


A Hogwarts Christmas Carol

by Q_loves_you



Category: A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 09:46:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2846573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Q_loves_you/pseuds/Q_loves_you
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A lonely, AU Snape is visited by ghosts from his past one Christmas Eve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Hogwarts Christmas Carol

**Author's Note:**

> Revamped from the version posted years ago on fanfiction.net and co-written with my sister. Based primarily off the Muppet's Christmas Carol, which is the one we've seen most. Some lines (the best ones) taken directly from the book.

Bellatrix Lestrange was dead, to begin with. Dead and rotting in her grave, un-mourned and forgotten by the masses.

It was Christmas Eve, 2005, and Hogwarts was bursting with Christmas cheer. The twelve trees sat in the Great Hall, tinsel was everywhere, and it had been snowing for the past three days. Everyone who had stayed over break was roaming the halls, singing slightly drunken carols and preparing for the Feast.

Everyone, that is, except Professor Snape, the Potions Master.

Professor Snape had proven his worth in the Second War Against Voldemort, faking his own death in order to make Voldemort believe that he had won. This noble act of self-sacrifice and risk of life and limb had proven to even the most hard-core doubters that Snape had always (well, mostly) been on the side of Truth and Right and Justice. It didn’t necessarily make him a decent human being, but at least he ended up on the winning side.

However, if you asked his Professor’s Aide, Neville Longbottom, you would get a slightly different story.

Now, Neville respected Snape. He respected the older man’s knowledge, and his bravery and fortitude in the Wars. He also respected the fact that Harry Potter, a good and powerful friend of Neville’s, would likely take it amiss if Neville hexed the pants off of Snape. Plus, then he would lose his job. Neville didn’t particularly like Snape, although he wasn’t nearly as afraid of him now as he had been as a student. Well, he was still afraid of him, but he’d learned that there were more terrible things and people out there in the world than one bitter old crank.

Neville was underpaid, overworked, and exhausted on the day that our story begins. As it was Christmas Eve, he was hoping to get home to his lovely wife Luna, and their twin sons Lorcan and Lysander, but Professor Snape was making him stay late, grading papers. This wasn’t even supposed to be his job as a Professor’s Aide. Snape was supposed to grade the papers, not Neville. Neville was just… a messenger type. He would make sure the cupboards were stocked and that none of the students misbehaved too much in class. Snape should be grading these papers.

It was bitterly cold in the dungeons of Hogwarts, in spite of new Health Regulations stipulating that students were not permitted to get frostbite whilst inside the castle. The ink in Neville’s quill kept freezing, and Snape always glared viciously if a Warming Charm was used. For absolutely no reason other than he was a terribly miserable human being, and enjoyed other people being terribly miserable as well.

Outside the dungeons, it was, in comparison, almost tropical, and a blast of heat accompanied anyone who passed through the forbidding door, as happened now.

Draco Malfoy, Snape’s godson and the closest thing he had to a family, not that he particularly wanted any such thing, breezed into the room with a vague nod in Neville’s sort-of direction, and said, “Happy Christmas, Snape!”

Snape looked at him coldly, raised an eyebrow and said, “Happy Christmas? Bah, humbug.”

“What?” Malfoy asked, puzzled, and then said, “Never mind, I don’t particularly care. I just wanted to let you know that Astoria has insisted on inviting you to our Christmas party this year. Again.”

“And, again, I say ‘humbug’,” Snape snapped, turning back to his papers.

“I told her you’d say that,” Malfoy sighed. “It’s what you say every year. But, really, do reconsider. You’re the only one who can make Scorpius shut up about the newest thing he found out in the garden this morning. Astoria thinks it’s adorable, but it’s driving me mad.”

Snape rolled his eyes, and retorted, “It’s not my job to keep your brat in line. If you’re so desperate for him to shut up, bring your father around.”

“I want him to be quiet and well-behaved, not traumatized and potentially dead,” Malfoy huffed.

“Still, I’m not coming,” Snape said without looking up.

“Of course,” Malfoy sighed dramatically. “What is Christmas but a time for grading papers and making your students even more miserable?”

Neville bit back a snort of laughter.

“Christmas is just the same as any other day, if colder and darker than most,” Snape snarled, glaring at his obnoxious godson. “You keep Christmas in your way, and let me keep it in mine.”

“But you don’t keep it; that’s just the problem!”

“Then let me leave it alone, and leave me in peace for once.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes and turned back towards the door. “Well, the offer still stands. Happy Christmas, Snape.”

“Humbug!”

“Happy Christmas, Longbottom.”

“Happy Christmas, Malfoy.”

“And a Happy New Year!” Malfoy roared, slamming the door behind him, not quite drowning out Snape’s loud “HUMBUG!”

Neville kept his eyes fixed studiously on the paper before him, pretending that he was deeply involved in whether or not First Year Derrick Flint was really as stupid as his paper made him out to be (Neville was leaning towards ‘yes’).

Snape glared at his Professor’s Aide, and then snapped, “What time will you be here tomorrow?”

“Um,” Neville said cleverly. “Tomorrow is… Christmas, Professor.”

“So?”

“So… well, typically speaking, we don’t work on Christmas. None of the other Professors will be working; and… well, it’s just… not… done.”

Snape said nothing. He merely continued to glare at Neville, one eyebrow raised. Neville flushed, and continued to stammer, “It’s just that, well, you see, since nobody… I mean, even Headmistress McGonagall is… well, I just… you… and… when it’s…. Um.”

Snape heaved a disgusted sigh, and reluctantly said, “I suppose, if you must.”

“Thank you, sir!”

“But be here all the earlier the next morning!” Snape snarled as Neville bolted for the door.

“Yessir, thank you sir, Happy Chri-… umm…. Thank you sir!” Neville stumbled as he tried not to make an even bigger idiot out of himself.

“Humbug,” Snape muttered as his Aide left the dungeons. He gathered up his papers and left the dungeons himself, locking the door behind him. He set off down the corridor towards his rooms.

Now, one thing you must remember, is that Bellatrix Lestrange is dead. As dead as a doornail. If you forget this fact, nothing that follows will seem wondrous or strange.

When Snape reached the door to his rooms, he paused. For on his door in the place where his doorknocker usually was, was the face of Bellatrix Lestrange, leering at him. “SNAPE!” the knocker-Bellatrix screeched, and then vanished. Snape stared at the doorknocker, now returned to its normal size and shape. ‘I’m just tired’, he thought. ‘It’s nothing.’ He stepped inside his rooms, glancing at the back of his door as he went. It was blank.

“Humbug,” he muttered. He locked the door securely and continued through the office into his bedroom. He changed into his black pajamas and settled down by the fire to eat his beef stew.

For a while, all was quiet. Snape could hear the far-off rumblings of the staff and students in the Great Hall, thankfully muffled by the thick stone walls and floors of the rambling old castle.

TING!

Snape glared suspiciously at the clock on the mantelpiece. For one thing, it wasn’t time for it to strike, as it was only 8:23. For another, Snape hated the chiming of the stupid thing, and he never kept it wound up.

He watched it for another few moments, and, when it did nothing, he turned back to his stew.

TING! TING! TINGTINGTING!

Snape pulled out his wand and blasted the clock off the mantelpiece.

BONG!

He vaulted up from his chair and snarled a curse at the old grandfather clock that had come with this set of rooms. It, too, exploded.

For a moment, the room was silent but for the sound of clock-bits gently clinking to the floor. Snape huffed a sigh, and sat back in his chair again.

TING! BONG! TINGBONGTINGTINGBONGBOOOOONNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGG!

“WHAT THE BLOODY HELL?!?” Snape roared, leaping up from his chair again.

As he stared around the room, fighting off a hint of panic, a ghostly white figure burst through the door. Literally, through it.

It was not one of the ghosts who frequented the castle.

It was, in fact…

“SNAPE!” Bellatrix Lestrange, dead these seven years, squalled with unholy glee. “You swotty little bastard!”

Snape stared at the thing before him. “Oh, bloody hell,” he muttered. “You… are not real.”

“Wrong, Snape,” Bellatrix grinned. “I’m real, and I’m here for you.”

Snape sat back in his chair, eyes bulging out of his head. “What, to drag me to hell?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Bellatrix said, “that’s been done too many times. You ever read that Muggle book? The one with the cranky old man and the ghosts?”

Snape raised an eyebrow.

“Didn’t think so. Well, that’s a pity,” she grinned manically. “You’re the cranky old man, Snape. And you will be visited by three ghosts tonight.”

“Do you count?” Snape asked.

A tiny corner of his mind wondered at the fact that he was handling this so very well. It’s not every day that the ghost of one of your former allies/enemies/whatevers shows up and tells you that you’re going to relive a Muggle book that you’ve never read before, even if you are a wizard and have run into a few ghosts in your time.

“No,” Bellatrix snarled. “Now you bloody pay attention, Snape. D’you want to end up like me? Burning in hell for always and eternity?”

Snape shook his head automatically.

“Then you damn well better listen to what these stinkin’ ghosts have to say to you, precious,” Bellatrix snapped. “Or you’ll end up like me, but even worse off. You’ve got chains stretching from here to Paris, Snape, and if you don’t shape up they’ll drag you to hell.”

“What chains?” Snape asked suspiciously.

“These chains were forged in life, by your actions. Every time you did something evil, or wicked, or just plain naughty, you added a few links to the chains. And even after your precious little ‘Redemptive Whirl’, you kept on adding,” Bellatrix’s lips twisted into a grimace. “So, expect the first ghost tonight when the bell tolls one.”

“But–” Snape started, but Bellatrix cut him off.

“You bloody listen! I don’t want to be stuck with you in hell for the rest of eternity. You’re the reason I’m dead, you filthy little traitor! You sold us out for a pat on the head and a pardon from Potter! Traitor! Slime! Greasy little PIIIG!”

And with that, Bellatrix sank into the floor, and vanished.

Snape’s rooms were silent, and still. There was no sign that anything had happened. The two clocks were back in their places, unexploded and ticking softly.

“Humbug,” Snape muttered, but with much less conviction than before.

He glanced at his stew, but was too unsettled to eat, or even to clean up after himself. He left it there for the House Elves to take care of, and went to bed.

TING! BONG!

Snape woke with a start from an uneasy sleep as the mantel clock and the grandfather clock simultaneously struck one. He looked around the room. It was empty. Before Snape could draw in a breath for his customary humbug, a bright light filled the room, and a figure appeared in the midst of it. Snape threw up a hand in front of his eyes. The light dimmed and Snape lowered his hand. Before him stood Remus Lupin, still glowing somewhat, with a grin on his face that made him look far younger than his almost-forty years. 

“Hello, Snape. Long time, no see,” Remus said.

“What are you doing here, Lupin?” Snape snarled. Never mind that this made no sense. Lupin wasn’t a ghost; Snape had never seen him around the castle before, so this was clearly not real. None of this was real. So he could be as nasty and vile as he wanted.

“I’m here for your welfare.”

“A goodnight’s sleep would better aid my welfare.”

“Your salvation, then.”

“You bloody better make this quick, Lupin. I haven’t got all night.”

“Take my hand,” said Lupin, holding his hand out to Snape.

“…No.”

“What?”

“I said no.”

“Just take my bloody hand.”

“No, I’m not taking your hand!”

“Fine!” Lupin reached out with two fingers and jabbed Snape right between the eyes. “Now you’ll bloody fly, you snot-nosed wanker!”

Before Snape could respond to this remark, Lupin seized him by the collar of his pajamas and threw him into the wall.

Except Snape didn’t crash into the wall. He didn’t hit anything. The stab from Lupin’s fingers had, apparently, rendered him insubstantial.

A hand grabbed the back of his collar again, and Snape stared up at Lupin. “What. The. Bloody. HELL?!?”

“Told you to take my hand,” Lupin snapped angrily. “But no, you had to be difficult! Bloody Scrooge wasn’t this difficult when Dickens wrote it.”

“What?”

“Just shut up and pay attention.”

For a few moments, they continued on through the empty blackness that had surrounded Snape since he went through the wall. For a dream, this was both stunningly realistic and appallingly insane.

“Where are we?” Snape asked after a few moments.

“Your life,” Lupin said brusquely. “Give us a moment; I’m still new at this.”

Snape was quiet for a minute, and then noticed that the blackness was slowly melting away, resolving itself into a neighborhood, full of houses and people.

“Lupin? Where… this is my house.”

“Is it?” Lupin asked brightly as they landed. “I got it right then, lovely. Well, no, not really. Bit of a pit, isn’t it?”

And Lupin was right. The house where Snape had grown up, at Spinner’s End, was indeed a pit. It held no happy memories for Snape, and he was fairly pissed off that Lupin had dragged him here in the first place.

“Yes, now can we leave?” Snape snapped, crossing his arms sulkily.

“No,” Lupin said seriously. “There are things you need to see.”

Snape looked around, but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. “What am I supposed to see?”

Lupin nodded towards a small boy sitting by the door of the run-down house next to them. “That.”

“…Is me,” Snape said quietly, staring at a younger version of himself.

Lupin nodded. “You look miserable.”

“I was.”

“Why? Isn’t it Christmas Day?”

“So?”

Lupin looked nonplussed. “Well… well, you’re a kid. Kids are usually… you know, happy at Christmas. Actually, they’re usually bouncing off the walls with crazy.”

“Maybe you and your stupid friends did that. I never did,” Snape muttered, eyes still on the lonely little boy poking the dirt with a stick.

“Well, maybe Christmas wasn’t all that great at home,” Lupin said awkwardly. “But… what about at Hogwarts? Hogwarts always does Christmas right, you know. It’s got to have been better then, right?”

Snape rolled his eyes. “Oh yes, Christmas was wonderful there. You and Potter and Black made my life hell, remember?”

Lupin flushed a bit. “Erm. Yes. But, let’s go anyway.”

“Why?” Snape protested as Lupin latched onto the back of his collar again.

“Because, that’s the way things work, Snape,” Lupin said, clearly aggravated. “And you’re not learning anything here. The whole point of this exercise is so that you learn from your past and grow into a more decent human being. That’s not happening here.”

The scene in front of them faded, and Snape kept watching the little boy until he vanished.

_‘Was Christmas always that miserable?'_ He wondered to himself.

As the blackness lifted, Snape saw that they were in Hogwarts again. But it was the Hogwarts of his childhood, not the one where he taught now.

Proof of this was Dumbledore himself, presiding over the Christmas Feast, saying “Happy Christmas to all, and tuck in!”

There were more students here than there had been in years, in Snape’s present time. Probably not since the Yule Ball, back in the days of the Triwizard Tournament. As he looked around, he could identify faces of people who were long dead, or who he just hadn’t seen in years.

“There’s Avery and Mulciber,” Snape pointed, a smirk twisting his features. “They’re dead now, you know. And look, there’s you and your morons. You’re all dead, too.”

“Tactful of you, Snape,” Lupin rolled his eyes. “See anybody else?”

Snape deliberately looked away from the Gryffindor table. “No.”

“Are you sure?” Lupin asked irritatingly, elbowing Snape in the side, like they were friends or something.

“Shut the hell up, Lupin,” Snape snarled.

Lupin shrugged, and leaned back against the wall, watching the Feast with every sign of enjoyment.

“Can we bloody go now?” Snape grumbled.

“No,” Lupin grinned. “We’re not done here yet.”

As Snape watched, people drifted slowly, in ones and twos, out of the Great Hall, until only a younger version of himself and a redheaded girl over at the Gryffindor table were left.

“No, but really. Let’s go,” Snape said anxiously.

Lupin kept his eyes on the two thirteen-year-olds, flatly ignoring the older Snape.

“Oh, hell,” Snape muttered.

“Happy Christmas, Sev!” Lily Evans said brightly, dropping into the seat next to Snape.

“Happy Christmas, Lily,” Snape replied, considerably less brightly.

“You sound thrilled,” she frowned.

Younger Snape shrugged. “I’m not much of a fan of Christmas.”

Lily sighed, and then grinned. “Maybe this will change your mind!” She reached into her book-bag and, with a flourish, pulled out a neatly wrapped gift. “Happy Christmas!”

Snape opened the present hesitantly, revealing a giant slab of Honeyduke’s Chocolate, in the shape of a Christmas Tree.

“That’s cute,” Lupin grinned. “If I recall right, she once broke a bar of that stuff over James’ head.”

Snape glanced over at him, frowning, and said, “I don’t care.”

Lupin shrugged, rolling his eyes, and turned his attention back to the scene before them.

“Thanks, Lily! It looks delicious,” said younger Snape, “I, um, I didn’t…I’m sorry, I didn’t get anything….” He trailed off looking apologetic.

“Oh,” said Lily, “well, that’s alright! It’s the thought that counts, right? Happy Christmas!” She leaned over and gave Snape a hug.

“Well, I suppose… Happy Christmas, Lily,” The younger Snape actually smiled. Snape smiled too. Lupin noticed.

“You two were really close.”

“Yes,” Snape watched himself leave the Hall with Lily, still chattering away happily. “She was always very kind to me, Merlin knows why,” he paused and shook his head, “She was so young…” he trailed off. They looked on silently as the scene began to change.

Snape paled. “No. Oh, no. Not this one, please not this one–”

Lupin shrugged his shoulders sadly. “It’s your brain, Severus. Your life. I’m just the vessel that picks out the memories. There’s a reason you have to see this particular Christmas, no matter how painful it is.”

Snape stared at his past self, who was slumped at the Slytherin table, morosely gazing across the room at the pretty redheaded girl who was studiously ignoring him.

“Sixth year, right?” Lupin asked rhetorically, inspecting his surroundings. “The War was getting worse, which explains why almost nobody’s here. They all ran home, thinking that was safer.”

Snape said nothing, only shifted uncomfortably.

“If I remember right, this is the year we all decided to join the Order. And it was when James stopped being such… well, such an arse, really,” Lupin mused. “Still took Lily a while to stop hating him, though.”

Snape bit back a snarl, instead saying, “You can really stop with all the reminiscing now, Lupin.”

Lupin shrugged again, and then nodded at the scene before them. “Here it comes.”

Just as three years previously, Lily and Snape were soon the only two people left in the Great Hall. Unlike their third year, however, this time Snape was the one to rise and cross the room, sitting awkwardly across from Lily.

“Can I–”

“You really don’t have anything to say that could possibly interest me,” Lily said coldly, looking away from her former friend.

“What about the fact that I’m sorry? For everything last year,” Snape offered.

Lily stared at him. “For everything last year? What about for everything this year? You’re practically a Death Eater already, Sev. If you didn’t know me, just knew that I was a Mudblood–” she spat the word furiously, “–you’d hate me on principle, right?”

“N-no,” Snape stuttered awkwardly.

“Yes, you would,” Lily retorted. “You are a completely different person from who I met years ago. I barely recognize you anymore. You’ve changed too much, Sev. I’m sorry.”

She rose to her feet, and began to walk away.

“Lily, please–” Snape lurched upright, but when she didn’t slow her steps, he slumped back into the seat and buried his head in his hands.

“Enough,” the other Snape snarled, rounding on Lupin. “Bloody enough. Send me back, I won’t see anymore.”

Lupin regarded him sadly, and then sighed, “Alright, I guess.”

He reached out, as if to poke Snape between the eyes again, and then paused. “I am sorry, you know. About all of this….”

Snape said nothing, only glared at the dead werewolf furiously.

“Right. The next ghost will be by when the clock strikes two,” Lupin sighed, and with a tap of his fingers, Snape was back in his room. Alone.

TINGBONG! TINGBONG!

Snape had barely had time to slump down into his armchair when the clocks simultaneously struck two. He hauled himself back onto his feet, staring around suspiciously.

For a moment, all was silent.

“Merlin’s beard, is this where they stick the Potion’s Master these days?” A voice said from behind him, dripping with mock-disdain. “No wonder Slughorn was always so… sluggy, I suppose.”

Snape didn’t turn around. “No. No. I’m still asleep, and you are not behind me.”

“True, at least in part,” the voice said cheerfully. “I’m not behind you.”

Snape blinked, and a figure appeared before him.

“I’m in front of you! Cool, huh?”

Snape buried his face in his hands, and mumbled, “Why? What have I done to deserve this?”

“Well–”

“Don’t bloody answer that, it was a rhetorical question!”

Snape raised his head again, and glared furiously at his arch-nemesis. Well, one of them, anyway.

James Potter looked a lot better than he had the last time Snape had seen him. Well, Snape hadn’t exactly seen him, so much as seen a photo of the devastation of Godric’s Hollow, complete with bodies. Rita Skeeter, even all those years ago, had been a scheming manipulative shrew with no morals.

“So, Snivelly, how’s it going?” James grinned broadly, lounging against the mantelpiece.

“You’re here, so it’s going to hell,” Snape growled.

“Aww, Snape, you know words can hurt, right?” James snarked, still grinning.

“Why you? Why you? Lupin was bad enough, but you? The only possible way it could be worse was if Black was here!”

“Oh, don’t worry, he won’t be showing up,” James said reassuringly. “Probably, anyway. He never was much for following the rules, you know.”

Snape snorted. “Neither were you, if I recall.”

“God no,” James laughed. “But, you know, this is mildly important.”

“Mildly?” Snape frowned. “I’m glad to know my ‘salvation’ is so important to you.”

“‘Salvation’? Is that what Moony said?” James rolled his eyes. “He always was prone to exaggeration. But no, it’s actually pretty important.”

“Glad to hear it,” Snape grumbled. “So you’re the Ghost of Christmas Present, I’m guessing?”

“Yep,” James grinned proudly, raising his hands in a ‘who-knew?’ gesture. “You know, scraping the bottom of the barrel, and all that.”

Snape didn’t argue.

“Well, we should be getting on with it then, I suppose,” James said cheerfully. “What with it being Christmas morning, and all.”

“Is it?”

“Yes, yes it is,” James pointed behind Snape, and the Potions Master turned.

They were no longer in his rooms, but in the parlor of Malfoy Manor.

Draco Malfoy, Snape’s godson, his wife Astoria, their son Scorpius, and an assortment of Draco’s friends from the Ministry, were sitting around the room, having drinks and light snacks, laughing and talking and just, in general, celebrating.

“Why are we here?” Snape muttered sullenly.

“Family, Snape,” James said idly, gazing around the room with interest. “These people are the closest thing you have to a family, and it is Christmas. Family and Christmas go together like Quidditch and Snitches. One isn’t much good without the other.”

Snape ignored this insightful remark, instead staring grumpily at the crowd of people. “You didn’t answer my question. Why are we here? What am I supposed to learn from this? That is why you buggers are dragging me all over the place, right? I’m supposed to learn something?”

James wordlessly nodded at the group of people.

“Alright, let’s play a game then, shall we?” Astoria said brightly, patting Scorpius on the head and whispering, “Put it back in the garden, sweetheart. You can show daddy later, alright?”

“But Mum–” Scorpius protested, and at a stern glance from his mother, he turned and left the room, hands held tightly together over… something.

“A guessing game?” A young woman asked brightly. “I’ve heard those are supposed to be fun!”

Astoria glanced briefly at Draco, eyebrows raised in a ‘what-rock-has-she-been-living-under’ gaze, and then said, “Wonderful idea, Cynthia.”

“Alright, I’ve got one then,” Draco said cheerfully, shaking his head ruefully at his wife.

“Animal, vegetable or mineral?” Blaise Zabini asked lazily from the couch where he was sprawled with a glass of some sort of fancy French wine.

“Animal.”

“Is it a lovely animal?” Cynthia asked. She seemed to Snape to be a bit of an idiot.

“Absolutely not,” Draco laughed.

“Does it have violent tendencies?” Blaise asked, rolling his eyes at Cynthia.

“Certainly.”

“Does it live in Britain?” Astoria asked.

“Usually.”

“Is it a bear?” Cynthia asked.

Draco looked at her for a moment, and then said, “No. I don’t believe there are any bears in Britain.”

“Is it a magical creature?” Blaise asked, eyeing Cynthia with something akin to concern.

“You could say,” Draco seemed proud of himself.

“A dragon,” Snape and James said at the same moment. Snape looked askance at the dead man beside him, but was distracted when Astoria said, “Is it a dragon?”

“I said it first,” Snape grumbled. James looked as though he wanted to claim the glory of the correct guess for himself, but shook his head a little and turned his attention back to the game at hand.

“Only on bad days,” Draco grinned.

“Is it a unicorn?” Cynthia asked eagerly.

“…No,” Draco said. “Unicorns aren’t really… ever dragon-like, you know.”

“Right…” Cynthia said pensively.

“Is it something nasty?” Blaise asked, inching away from the woman who couldn’t seem to differentiate between unicorns and dragons. Snape heard him whisper to Astoria, “Is she one of Draco’s friends from the Ministry? Because if this is the kind of people they’re employing these days I don’t think I want to stay in Britain.” Astoria whispered back that she was the wife of a Ministry friend of Draco’s.

“It’s quite often nasty,” Draco replied.

“So, it’s a violent, ugly, nasty dragon-like magical animal that lives mostly in Britain?” Astoria asked, looking thoughtful.

“Is it Professor Snape?” Scorpius piped up from the doorway as he returned from the garden.

“Yes!” Draco laughed.

Scorpius clapped his hands together proudly as the entire room erupted into laughter.

Well, not the entire room.

Snape frowned. James eyed him expectantly for a moment, and then said, “Well. Probably time we moved on anyways then, eh?”

The room around them faded away, quickly replaced with the street that ran through the center of Hogsmeade.

“What are we doing here?” Snape grumbled. He was still smarting from the remarks at Draco’s party.

“Part of the duties of being the Ghost of Christmas Present,” James explained. “I have to give Christmas spirit and joy to those who most need it, especially if they’re poor or alone.”

“Why? You’re just going to leave them miserable and depressed the next day when all the shiny Christmas glitter is gone from the world,” Snape scowled.

James looked soberly at him. “Really.”

Snape squirmed uncomfortably. “Well, yes.”

Two students walked by, interrupting the awkward silence that had sprung up.

“…like bloody hell am I going to write this Potions essay over break!” One was saying furiously, gesticulating madly to express his rage. “What kind of a Grinchy Scrooge gives out homework for Christmas?”

“A what?” the other asked, utterly bemused.

“You know. A Grinchy Scrooge?” the first said. “Like from… ohhh, right. You’re from a Wizarding family. And you have no idea what I’m talking about.”

“Some kind of nasty bugger?” the second offered.

“Exactly!” the first threw his arms in the air, smacking his companion right across her face.

The first student apologized frantically as the second burst into laughter and proceeded to beat the first with her mittened fists. As they ran past the two invisible presences, James waved his wand at them, and a silver sparkle of… something… wafted after them.

“Like I said, giving Christmas spirit and joy,” he grinned wistfully. “And here come three of my favorites.”

Snape turned around in time to see Neville and two small boys emerge from Honeydukes, each of the boys clutching a large, gaudily-wrapped package labeled ‘MUM’ in childish handwriting.

“Alright, boys, Mum will be back in less than half an hour,” Neville said brightly, scooping up one of them and giving him a piggy-back ride. “So when we get home, Lysander, you run upstairs and hide the presents, alright? Lorcan, you’re on Mum-watch, and distract her if she gets back early.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard,” the boy on the ground said, scurrying ahead. “Lorcan and Mum always go off about Nargles and things around Christmas.”

“That’s because they’re everywhere!” the boy on Neville’s back piped up. “There’s an infestation in Hogsmeade! All that mistletoe!”

Snape watched them as they walked past, and James waved his wand after them as well. “I didn’t realize Longbottom had children.”

“Yep, twin boys,” James said quietly. “The one of them, Lorcan… he’s sick. They don’t quite know what’s wrong, but he’s been in and out of St. Mungo’s for the past three years or so. They just can’t figure it out.”

“Is it serious?” Snape asked, frowning.

“Could be,” James said, starting to walk after Neville and the two boys.

“Is he going to die?” Snape followed the long-dead spirit.

“I’m the Ghost of Christmas Present, Snape,” James sighed. “I honestly don’t know. But…” he paused. “I see a vacant seat by the chimney corner, and a crutch without an owner, carefully preserved. If these shadows remain unaltered by the future, I believe the child will die.”

Snape stopped for a moment, and James continued to follow Neville.

“Potter,” Snape called, walking quickly to catch up. “Is there any way to… to keep that from happening?”

James eyed him oddly. “You? Professor Severus Snape, who is said by many to hate children? Who hates Christmas and all that it entails, who just wants to be left alone, and to leave Christmas alone? You want to help him?”

“Yes, Potter,” Snape snarled. “I’m not entirely a monster. The boy is… he’s a child. Children shouldn’t… die.”

“Hmm,” James looked thoughtful. “Well, Neville’s salary, even combined with what Luna brings in with the Quibbler, isn’t really enough to pay for what they need… and besides, the Healers at St. Mungo’s haven’t perfected the potions needed to cure the disease, whatever it is. I mean, what they have would save Lorcan, if the Longbottoms could afford it, but…” he trailed off.

“But he’d never be completely free of it, would he,” Snape supplied, frowning in thought.

“’Never be completely free of it’?” James repeated slowly. “Interesting way to phrase it there, Snape. But, you know, accurate.”

Snape stared at James with narrowed eyes for a moment, and then said, “Is that it, or is there more?”

“There’s always more,” James sighed, and then pointed ahead to the house that Neville and the twins, who they had been following all this time, had just entered.

Still being insubstantial, Snape and James passed easily through the walls of the house, and saw Lorcan Longbottom sitting vigilantly by the window, eyes peeled for Luna.

“There she is!” he piped up suddenly, waving his arm madly. “Lysander! She’s coming! She’s coming!”

A mad scramble of footsteps sounded from the stairs, and Lysander flung himself into the room, eyes wide and hair flying madly. “Hid them! Done! We’re good!”

He plunked himself onto the couch by the window next to his twin, and immediately plastered an expression of innocent boredom onto his face.

James laughed. “Kid’s good, but the fake-innocence could use some work, you know?”

Snape stared blankly at him for a moment.

“Yeah, right, never mind.”

The door swung open, revealing a bright-eyed woman with dirty-blond hair who Snape vaguely recognized as Luna Lovegood (or had she taken Neville’s name?). He’d never paid all that much attention to her when she had been in school, since she was neither a favored Slytherin or a hated Gryffindor, but he did remember her from various Battles during the Second War.

Before she could say a word, Lysander and Lorcan squealed in unison, “MUM’S HOOOOME!”

Lysander flung himself off the couch and started dancing around Luna, loudly chanting, “Happy Christmas! Happy Christmas!”

Lorcan got up more slowly, but joined his twin’s yelling with matching exuberance.

“Happy Christmas, boys! Hello, Neville!” Luna hugged her sons and sat down in an armchair with one on each knee. “Now, Lorcan, have you seen the Nargles out in Hogsmeade?”

“There are so many of them! They’re everywhere! Every single bunch of mistletoe! It’s an infestation!” Lorcan cried in dismay.

Snape rolled his eyes.

“What?” James said defensively. “He’s adorable, and you know it.”

“Mum, when’s dinner?” Lysander asked eagerly. “Cuz, you know, I’m reeeeally hungry? And… and so’s Lorcan!”

“Well, why don’t the two of you go check in the kitchen while I talk to your dad for a few minutes?”

“Alright!” Lysander leapt from her lap (he seemed to do a lot of leaping and flinging, Snape thought) and bolted for the door, with Lorcan following at a slightly slower pace.

“I like these kids,” James said brightly. “They remind me of me.”

“Merlin help me,” Snape muttered.

“How did the boys behave?” Luna asked Neville as he sat down on the arm of her chair.

“Well, Lysander was his usual over-exuberant self, but good. Lorcan was good as gold and better. He seems healthier this week, doesn’t he?”

Luna nodded. “I should probably go and check on the goose, make sure they haven’t destroyed it.”

As Luna left the room, Lysander came running out of the kitchen, followed closely by Lorcan.

“It’s such a goose, Dad!” Lysander was yelling.

“Brilliant!” added Lorcan.

Neville grinned and sent the boys off to set the table while he helped Luna in the kitchen. There was a great scurrying bustle in which the smell of goose filled the house and Lysander seemed to be everywhere at once in his excitement. Soon the table was set and the twins were seated expectantly with their father. Then Luna brought out the goose and set it on the table in front of Neville. There never was such a goose. It was the best goose they had ever had. Brilliant!

Snape and James watched the celebration silently.

Snape frowned intently. The four of them were poor, thanks to the low salary that Neville earned and the lack of bonuses that Snape gave him, their house and the goose were both small, but they didn’t seem to care. Outside it was sleeting, but it was warm and cheerful in the little house in Hogsmeade. They had each other, their family, and in spite of everything they seemed… happy.

“My favorite thing about Christmas is the fact that it brings family together like this,” James said quietly, grinning to himself as they watched the little family celebrate Christmas. “It’s what makes me wish I had more time with my family. But that isn’t really the point here. The point is family, Snape.”

“A toast to Professor Snape!” Neville’s voice cut off Snape’s impending snarky remark and Snape turned in surprise.

“Snape? Why Snape?” asked Lysander indignantly. “He hasn’t done anything for us, has he?”

“He helped in the War and he agreed to take me on as Professor’s Aide.”

“But apart from that! He’s a swotty git! Ow!” Lysander rubbed the back of his head where his mother had smacked him.

“Don’t say things like that, Lysander. Professor Snape has been helpful and…kind,” Luna said.

“Kind! He doesn’t pay Dad nearly as much as he should and he’s a greasy git!” Lysander said indignantly, shielding the back of his head from another swat from Luna.

Lorcan nodded. “It’s true. He is very unkind.”

“Well, it’s Christmas Day,” said Neville. “And we should forgive him, at least for today.”

“Alright then. To Professor Snape, may he have a happy Christmas and long life,” said Lysander resentfully. The family all raised their glasses together.

“Well now that’s done,” said Neville brightly. The family was cheerful again five minutes later.

Snape was silent, determinedly ignoring the spirit beside him. James stared intently at him, and then sighed, “There’s still plenty to see, Snape.”

As the scene faded around them, Snape still watched little Lorcan Longbottom, wondering what, exactly, would happen to him.

When the blackness lifted, Snape found himself in the Great Hall of Hogwarts. The staff and students were gathered together, singing and laughing, pulling Christmas crackers that popped with great explosions, wearing ridiculous hats and toasting each other extravagantly.

Before Snape could focus on the people before him for more than a moment, they faded, blurring into another family, then another, and another and another, each family blending together as Snape and James travelled across the world, visiting families rich and poor, Muggle and wizard, European, American, Asian, everywhere across the globe. And then the dizzying whirl of family came to an abrupt halt, and Snape found himself at a place that he could never go without feeling ill.

Dumbledore’s grave.

“What are we doing here?” Snape snarled.

“One last thing before I go,” James said, glancing at the western horizon. The sun was setting, all but gone. The sky was streaked with red, the eastern half dark and dotted with stars. “Look, Snape, there’s just… listen. Look.”

Two children emerged from behind him, skeletally thin, barefoot and wearing only rags. They stared at Snape with blank, hungry eyes, mouths gaping slightly to reveal jagged, yellowing teeth.

“What the hell…” Snape took a few steps back, appalled.

“Ignorance and Want,” James said quietly, gesturing to the boy and the girl respectively. “They’re the children of Humanity. Beware them both, but especially the boy. Ignorance is Doom for mankind, Snape. Ignorance and Intolerance, being unaccepting of differences and being unforgiving. Ignorance will lead to the end of mankind.”

Snape stared wide-eyed at the two children, who gazed blankly back, clinging to James’ robe with gnarled hands that were more like to claws than anything else.

“You’d better remember this, Snape,” James said, frowning sadly at the two children. “Everyone needs to do what they can to change the course of fate. Including you.”

The light faded as the sun set, and Snape turned to see it disappear behind a mountain. When he looked back, James and the two children had vanished.

Now all that was left, as he stood by the white tomb, was the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come.

For a long moment, in the cold, silent darkness, Snape stood alone, waiting.

Then a rustling sound came from behind him, and he spun to face a dark-hooded, silent figure.

“Who… are you?” Snape asked, falling back a step. The figure said nothing, merely stretched a hand out towards Snape. A thin, pale, long-fingered hand, with jagged, uncut nails emerged from the sleeve of the over-long robe, a hand that was eerily, unplaceably familiar.

Snape turned, again, and found himself in the streets of Hogsmeade.

Unlike the last time Snape had stood in these streets, it was raining. A cold, drizzly rain that always finds its way under your coat and freezes you instantly.

Two figures, bundled against the cold, stood just outside the Three Broomsticks, preparing to head off down the road.

“Did you hear about the death up at the castle?” one of the figures asked, and Snape recognized the voice as the same student who had been so viciously complaining about the Potions Master not too long ago.

“Yeah, and it’s about bloody time the bugger kicked the bucket,” the other figure huffed, revealing herself to be the other student from that bright sunny Christmas Day.

“Pity it had to happen on Christmas, though,” the first responded, although he didn’t sound as though he really meant it.

“Not really. Means we don’t have to do the assignment, eh?”

They both burst into laughter, and headed off back towards the castle.

Snape gulped, eyeing the Ghost beside him with trepidation. “I understand, Spirit. The case of this unhappy man might be my own. I–”

Before Snape could say any more, the figure pointed again.

The scene around them shifted, and Snape found himself in Borgin and Burkes, in Knockturn Alley.

Filch, the caretaker of Hogwarts, was standing by the counter, holding a bundle of books tightly to his chest. “Look, I don’t have all day,” he grumbled at Borgin, who was standing behind the counter. “I’ve got to get back before they notice I’ve gone.”

“Yes, I imagine the Headmistress wouldn’t be too pleased with you,” Borgin sniffed. “Stripping the corpse before it’s cold, and all that. What do you have for me then, Filch?”

“I got ’is books,” Filch said unnecessarily as he deposited his bundle on the counter. “Whole bunch of them, likely full a’ dark magics and things like that, eh? Should be worth a few Galleons at least. And if you don’t want ’em, I know where there’s a whole load of other buyers.”

“No, no, I’ll take them,” Borgin said quickly. “Let’s see… ohh, yes, I haven’t seen this one in a good while…. I’ll give you thirty-four Galleons for the lot of them?”

Filch frowned suspiciously. “I think I could probably get a better offer from Lucius Malfoy….”

“Thirty-seven, then, and not a Knut more,” Borgin said brusquely.

“Done,” Filch sneered. Money exchanged hands, and as Filch made for the door, he paused, and snickered, “It’s too bad. Bugger’s whole life boils down to thirty-seven Galleons, eh?”

Borgin laughed. “Most people usually make it up to at least forty.”

Filch snorted, and left.

Before Snape could say another word, Borgin and Burkes faded, quickly replaced with a little house in Hogsmeade, one that Snape knew very well indeed.

“Oh, no,” he said quietly, seeing an empty chair by the fireplace, and a child-sized crutch carefully set beside it. “He didn’t….”

Footsteps came from the kitchen, slow, plodding footsteps, and Snape was surprised when Lysander Longbottom entered the room. In Snape’s admittedly-limited experience, Lysander never did anything slowly.

The small boy slumped onto the couch by the window, and rested his head on his arms.

Luna, obviously hearing her son’s arrival, came in from another room. She bit her lip at the sight of Lysander, and quickly sat down beside him.

“You alright, love?” she asked softly.

Lysander didn’t answer, merely turned to his mum and buried his face in her shoulder. She held him close, and whispered quietly in his ear.

The front door opened, revealing a gaunt-faced Neville.

“Hello, Luna,” he said heavily. “Hi, Lysander.”

Lysander didn’t look up. Luna met her husband’s eyes with a sad smile. “How were things up at the castle?”

“Fine,” Neville said quietly, sitting beside the two remaining members of his family. “They had the funeral service for the Professor today. It was… well, you know.”

“Under-attended?” she supplied with a bite to her voice.

“Yes,” Neville nodded. “I, uh. I went by the cemetery on the way home. Left some flowers with… I left some flowers.”

Luna nodded, her eyes going bright with unshed tears.

“Lorcan’s dead then?” Snape asked quietly. The spirit beside him nodded once, and then everything faded, once more. When their surroundings resolved themselves, Snape shuddered.

They were in a graveyard.

“Why are we here?” Snape asked shakily. “What does this have to do with me?”

The spirit pointed silently at the headstone before them, standing before an open grave, both covered with a slight dusting of icy snow, obscuring the name on the stone. Snape walked hesitantly forward, and reached out a shaking hand to brush away the snow and read the name inscribed on the grey marble.

SEVERUS SNAPE.

“No,” Snape whimpered. “Oh, no, no, no. No, this… this can’t… Tell me this can be changed?” he begged, turning again to the Spirit behind him.

The spirit was silent.

“Please, I’ve learned my lesson. I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year. I will live in the Past, Present and the Future. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach. Please, tell me I can change this!”

The spirit took a step back, and then the skeletal hands reached for its hood. As the hood fell back, revealing the red-eyed, noseless, corpse-like face, Snape staggered back in horror.

He tripped, and, with a scream, fell backwards into the grave.

And landed, with a thump, on his own bed.

The bed was his own, the room was his own, the drapes and blankets and rugs were his own! Best of all, the time before him was his own, to make amends in!

Snape stared blankly for a moment, and then began to laugh. It may have been laughter with an edge of madness to it, but it was laughter nonetheless.

“It’s all still here!” he cried, staring with delight at the bookcase by his bed. “It hasn’t happened yet, I can change it! I can stop… I can change things!”

He sprang to his feet, racing around the room as he threw himself into his clothes, hopping from one foot to the other, all the while laughing semi-hysterically.

The laughter only grew stronger as he stared in awe at the calendar before him.

“It’s Christmas Day! I haven’t missed it! The Spirits did it all in one night. Of course they did! They can do anything they like, they’re spirits!”

Snape paused in his mad laughing and leaping, and said, “I should… I should go to dinner at Draco’s. And then, and then come back here, and do what I can to come up with some sort of… of potion, for Lorcan. Yes, of course, it won’t take me too long to find out what to do! I’m brilliant, after all. And I’ll give Longbottom a raise, and I’ll stop giving out Christmas homework, and… and all sorts of things like that!”

Snape left his rooms, making for the fireplace in the Great Hall which was commonly used as a Floo-station now, and then paused, making a detour towards the kitchens. “I’ll get the house-elves to make a turkey for Longbottom! And then I’ll bring it, no I’ll send it over! He won’t know who sent it!” Snape chuckled to himself as he walked towards the kitchens, nodding at everyone he passed and even smiling at the students.

And so Snape proceeded to the kitchens, ordering the largest turkey in the British Isles to be sent to the Longbottom house down in Hogsmeade, and then Floo-ed himself to Malfoy Manor, where he spent the afternoon being sociable and relatively pleasant to the astonished Malfoys and their guests. Granted, it was almost impossible to be pleasant to Cynthia Corner whenever she spoke, but Snape very nearly managed it.

The next day, Snape entered his office at eight o’clock, doing his best to get there before Neville so he could catch him coming in late. Sure enough, it was 8:10 when Neville’s hurried footsteps were heard outside in the corridor. Neville slipped quietly behind his desk and began to work.

“Mr. Longbottom, what do you mean by coming in at this time of day?” Snape asked, attempting with success to keep his usual sneer in place.

“I-I’m sorry sir. My family was celebrating l-late last night. I over-s-slept a b-bit,” Neville stammered, “It won’t h-happen again, sir.”

“No, it won’t, Longbottom. I won’t stand for any more of this. And therefore…” Snape stepped forward and pointed his wand ominously at Neville. “…Therefore, I am going to raise your salary!”

Neville stared at him as Snape started to laugh. His hand reached into his pocket for his wand, prepared to stun Snape immediately if he should suddenly attack Neville in madness.

“A happy Christmas, Longbottom!” cried Snape, and Neville, who had been starting to feel genuinely alarmed, loosened his grip on his wand a bit. There was such earnestness in Snape’s voice that Neville couldn’t help but grin nervously. “A happier Christmas than I have given you since you started working here!” Snape continued. “Cast a warming charm, Longbottom and light the lamps! And tonight we will discuss your affairs and I will endeavor to assist you and your family, all over a hot supper, with your entire family invited if you like! I want to see your son, Lorcan. I may be able to do something for him if I can see the boy. A happy Christmas, Longbottom!”

“H-happy Christmas, sir?” Neville replied warily, still not entirely sure that Snape hadn’t gone off his rocker at last.

“Happy Christmas!” Snape cried again.

And Snape was as good as his word and better. He did it all. And to Little Lorcan, who did not die, Snape became something of an odd uncle. He became as good a man as some people had ever known. Some people (mostly Ron Weasley and his brother George) laughed to see the change in him, but Snape didn’t really care about them. He was happier than he had been for a very long time.

He never saw Bellatrix or Voldemort again, and only saw Lupin and James after he died. It was always said that he knew how to keep Christmas well… or at least OK. May that be said of us, and all of us. And, as Lorcan Longbottom observed, “God bless us, every one. And may we ward off nargles!”

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Christmas to all and to all a Good Night!


End file.
